Harry Potter and the Victorious Resistance
by ChelsMAC
Summary: After Dumbledore's death, a group of young seers commissioned by the deceased wizard seek to spoil Harry's attempts at finding the six horcruxes. But why? Is there more to Trelawney's prophecy then Harry once thought?


_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ."_

Neville.

I.

The rain was falling in torrents on the sleepy London town and as Brice stared out of her bedroom window forlornly, she sighed, lamenting the events that preceded the summer. It was days like these when she hated Dumbledore. Days like these where the weather represented the whirlwind of emotions running through her, days that reminded her of the promise Dumbledore had made to her and the others and then promptly broken through his death. If she could not trust the proclaimed "Greatest Wizard of the Modern Age", whom could she trust? There was a crash on the stairs outside her bedroom and Brice chuckled to herself. That would be her uncle, probably come to bring her up tea. She threw open the door and gazed upon the sight of her uncle cursing as he repaired the broken teapot and rearranged the biscuits that had fallen on the landing of the staircase.

He looked up as she came out the door, his face pulled into a sour frown of sorts.

"I hope you don't expect me to eat those now that they've been on the floor!" Brice laughed, joking.

The bald, dark-skinned wizard looked up and smiled.

"Quite the princess, are we?" he teased back.

"Why yes, I am. And I expect my subjects to be nothing but loyal."

Kingsley Shacklebolt picked up the tray on which the teapot, teacup, and biscuits were haphazardly arranged.

"Does her royal highness even want tea?"

Brice smiled widely and shook her head.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might be allowed to go and see Colin."

Kingsley sighed.

"He's not but a ten minute walk from here! You could even walk me there and he will walk me back! I will not stay too long! Promise!"

"Brice love, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea."

Brice knew what was coming and as her uncle launched into one of his "It's just not safe" speeches; she leaned against the wall of the stairwell and half-listened.

Dumbledore just _had_ to ruin everything for her. It was unfair. According to her uncle, it was a miracle that Hogwarts would receive students in the upcoming term, the wizarding world being plunged into a period of death and uncertainty following the death of their unofficial leader.

"…and with me being an Auror and recently appointed to a position with the Prime Minister, I'm afraid the chances of putting you in harms way has increased. Believe me Brice, I want nothing more for you to experience the world the way I did, the way it should be; but until the Ministry sorts some things out, I am afraid that it is just not safe for you to go out. It is better to be safe than regretting our actions later. Love, no one is more upset about this than I am, really. I do not wish to take away your freedom. I know that teenage girls need their bloke's affection from time to time, honest; I had a girlfriend once…or twice."

Brice broke out of her stupor at her uncle's last comment.

"What did you just say?" she sputtered, embarrassed.

Kingsley just laughed.

"Don't think I didn't know. I am a bloke after all. The cheeky bastard is lucky to have such a fine lass as yourself. Don't you forget that."

Brice cringed.

"Shall we discuss something else besides Colin? Like the fact that you will not even let me send him an owl! I could floo to his house even! I could apparate!"

"But you haven't a license to apparate, using the Floo System has been deemed dangerous by the Ministry, and owls are too easily intercepted. I _am_ sorry Brice, but I cannot allow it. School will be starting in two weeks time, you will be able to see Colin then."

Brice nodded. She trusted her uncle. He had taken her in when her father had disappeared, driving her mother mad in the process. Before Dumbledore's death, and the subsequent aftermath of the wizarding world's response – which was to attempt to squelch as much joy out of life as possible through the shutdown of most public sectors – Kingsley had taken her to St. Mungo's everyday to see her mum. He took care of her in every possible way, moving out of his bachelor's flat in wizarding London to a more "suitable" farmhouse in Ottery St. Catchpole, a short walk from the modest Lovegood house – a place where after venturing once, she vowed never to go again. As much as she trusted her uncle, Brice still thought the situation _bloody_ unfair; she could not even open a window with her uncle going mental about the "potential danger". What harm could a spot of fresh air do?

"This is bollocks, you know." Brice stated quietly.

Kingsley sighed for what must have been the fiftieth time and rubbed his hand over his shiny, bald head.

"I know love, I know. But humor me, alright?"

Brice did not say anything, but nodded. She gently took the tray that Kingsley held and turned into her room before her uncle could see the tears spilling down her cheeks. She was not crying tears of anger, upset at not being able to leave the house, she had gotten used to being cooped up with no connection to the outside world save the newspapers Kingsley brought home for her to read. Her tears were those of frustration. More than anything, she wanted to tell him what she knew. Keeping secrets from the one person who had shown her unconditional love and support in a time when there was none was killing her. However, every time she though she could share her story with Kingsley, Brice remembered the warning of the now deceased Dumbledore and kept the secret, only she and the others would ever know. It was tearing at her heart; he deserved to know.

Having resolved that she would simply pass the night away crying on her bed, Brice stretched out, closing her eyes. An hour later, as a wave of small rocks hit her window, Brice smiled. Doing a quick once over of herself in the mirror, Brice hurried to the window and threw it open.

"It took you long enough! I thought you weren't coming!" she whispered loudly at the figure standing below her on the grass, clutching a broom.

"In case you didn't notice," came the reply, "it's raining like mad outside. Are you going to have me in or what?"

Brice nodded and stepped back from the window. A moment later, the lithe body of a boy with shaggy dark hair propelled himself through the window, falling on the floor in a heap with his broom.

"Be quiet, will you?" Brice scolded.

"Don't you pout those pretty little lips of yours," he smirked, coming forward and slipping an arm around her waist, the other grasping her hand, dancing a little jig as he dripped all over the rug in front of her bed. She looked down at his pale skin against her dark skin and smiled.

"I've missed you."

"As you rightly should have."

"You are _such_ a git."

"But I'm your git."

"Yes Colin, I suppose you are."

Ignoring his soaked clothing, Brice pulled Colin flush against her and pressed her lips to his. He reciprocated her actions; each of them knew what the other wanted. Brice smiled against Colin's lips. He knew her, who she really was, who she was destined to become, and he did not care. He a special place in her heart, and not just, because he was a part of the group, it was because they were in love; he was with her until the end.

Who knew that for Colin, the end would come so soon.


End file.
